


Fall

by penctagon



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, And Johnny is the son to two wannabe hippies, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Lee Taeyong, Chicago (City), I'll add later I'm really bad at this, M/M, Road Trips, Slow Burn, Taeyong's parents own an inn and he works there because why not, Tagging is really hard, Travel, Youngho travels all the time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 15:08:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14335128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penctagon/pseuds/penctagon
Summary: seo youngho didn’t really know what it was like to settle down, and he never really wanted to until he spent a week at creekside inn.in taeyong’s case, he never really liked heights. deathly afraid of them, he veered as far away as possible from high places and areas without any proper safety guidelines. even the most careful precautions could not have prevented this great, great fall, however.





	Fall

**Author's Note:**

> I think I have some sort of romantic ideal when it comes to inns. Perhaps it’s because I binge watched Gilmore Girls that one summer when Netflix was a lifestyle. I always wanted to be like Rory Gilmore when I grew up.

Born to parents that were wannabe-hippies had its perks. Youngho knew how to get by with just the bare minimum, how to stay in touch with nature, and how to never get too attached. 

 

Before Youngho was born, his parents had become zombie-like figures in the hellish lifestyle of the city. Chicago was great in itself, but as a tense political climate sought out blood, the two young parents feared for their lives every day, and the thought of leaving their son behind in such a cruel world drove them out.

 

They didn’t have much to begin with, being rather non-possessive people. There were some things Myo-ryun and Hyojong couldn’t bear to let go of. For one, they set off in their rusty blue pickup truck. Sometimes they would laugh and say they were always destined to leave the city, because their choice in vehicle never quite fit in with all the other fancy cars of the bustling streets.

 

Myo-ryun kept her bead kit in the trunk of their pick-up, a gift she’d gotten many years ago and had yet to run out of materials from said kit. Hyojong would always keep his lucky socks on him, even though Myo-ryun swore he’d lost the real ones years ago.

 

With their few prized possessions and a babbling two-year old in their lap, the Seo couple left behind all that they had known for a better, safer life.

 

+

 

“Traveling’s just kind of been my thing. You know I get too antsy. I get bored easily. I can’t stand seeing the same scenery every single day for more than a few months. Don’t you ever just get tired of routine?” Youngho’s faux-profound speech was interrupted with a sharp inhale as scalding hot coffee licked down his throat. He hissed, grimacing as he quickly set the cup down and fanned his tongue.

 

“No, as a matter of fact, not really. Routine is nice. You don’t have to worry about fucking stuff up if you just do the same thing every day,” Ten hummed, pushing his glasses up, which seemed to always be falling down the bridge of his slightly upturned nose now that he always had his face in the book Youngho had lent him.

 

“Well, that’s what society trains you to think. They make you think that it’s detrimental to move around, to change things up. They want you to get a boring office job  that forces you to sit in the same damn cubicle every day until you retire. That’s so endless and so incredibly boring. I want to see new things,” Youngho murmured, the fire of his coffee and creamer still pulsing throughout his mouth. He pulled the plastic lid off of the cup and began to blow gently on the piping hot liquid.

 

The two twenty-somethings were seated in the corner window seat of a dimly lit cafe. It seemed as though a few of the bulbs above the heads of the customers had been blown out, but Ten just liked to say that it added to the ambiance.

 

As much as Youngho hated routine and schedules, he and Ten always met up at this cafe on any day that ended with a ‘y’ at whatever time Ten felt like waking up. Ten would always order the same thing (caramel macchiato with two pumps of vanilla, please) and Youngho had worked his way through the entire menu about four and a half times now. Although his taste buds were particular to the white mocha, he never repeated drinks twice in a row. He’d have to wait precisely thirteen more items before he ordered it again.

 

“Are you saying I’ve been brainwashed?” Ten asked rather amusedly, pushing up his glasses with his middle finger again,  _ Vanity Fair  _ in one hand, his iced coffee in the other. They’d met up here this morning just moments ago, and it seemed as though Youngho was already bored and jittery.

 

He fidgeted in his seat, staring down at his cup and picking at the cardboard holder that protected his hands from getting burned, like his tongue.

 

“If you oh so desire to word it that way, then yes,” Youngho snorted. The whole conversation had stemmed from Youngho’s declaration that he’d be road tripping across the States for the next few weeks. If Ten were being honest, he was sort of expecting it. University was hell for Youngho, staying within the confinements of one city for the majority of the four years. Youngho tended to venture out into the world when he had been struck with grief-- this Ten knew after word of Youngho’s father’s death plagued his emotions during the summer of Junior year, and Youngho didn’t return from God knows where until two days before the semester began (when Ten had asked him where he’d gone, Youngho had simply showed Ten his tanlines, waved a passport in his face and said that was as much information as he’d give out).

 

“Hm.” A short, curt response was what Youngho would normally receive from Ten when he was either too absorbed in another activity, or simply had no reason to carry on the conversation. 

 

Perhaps it was both at once in this moment, which is why Youngho chose to remain silent and instead peer outside the foggy window, a constellation of raindrops magnifying little specks of the street life that scattered about on the other side of the glass.

 

They often slipped into this comfortable silence, the two of them so used to it that it more so calmed Youngho than anything. He’d hate silence with anybody else. Always a raging extrovert, Youngho’s mother used to tell him about how he would sing lullabies to the other children during naptime in preschool because “the sound of them breathing was boring and too quiet”. However, silence with Ten was a golden match, like sweet and salty or hot chocolate and a fuzzy blanket. It was just right.

 

“Where exactly are you planning on going?” Ten pried after a few more comfortable beats of silence, flipping the page with his thumb, the rest of his fingers supporting the spine of the well worn novel.

 

“Dunno. West. There’s something poetic about being a spontaneous traveler.”

 

“Neither of us are poets.”

 

“That’s what makes it so poetic,” Youngho grinned.

 

+

 

The twelfth of June always felt like a good day. Youngho got his first bicycle, a bright blue bike purchased from a garage sale in the town the Seo family had just happened to pass through, with thick tires and a basket with a hole in it, probably from an animal chewing through it. It was Anne Frank’s birthday on the twelfth and blue galaxies were discovered on the twelfth, and it was also today, the day Youngho had packed his bags for.

 

Normally, during the summer when Youngho and Ten were attending university together, they would go back to their respective homes, and contact each other non-stop throughout the few months they were separated. This time, however, Youngho wasn’t planning on going home, and Ten wouldn’t be leaving their apartment.

 

_ “Why aren’t you going back home?” Youngho had asked him a few days ago. _

 

_ “Someone’s gotta hold down the fort while you’re gone,” Ten had laughed, “it’s the first time we’ve got our own apartment. May as well keep it occupied.” _

 

Youngho wasn’t stupid. He’d gotten to know Ten quite thoroughly over the past four or five years they’d known each other. He could read Ten like the books he was constantly zipping through, and the undertone of mild sadness was not missed. He didn’t pry, however, as he wanted to leave on a good note.

 

“I can’t believe you don’t know where you’re going,” Ten sighed. He was leaning in the doorway, watching as Youngho made sure all his zippers were closed on his backpack. That was all he had. A backpack and a carry-on, and yet he didn’t expect Ten to feel an ounce of worry about him.

 

“You know what they say. It’s about the trip, not the destination,” Youngho sang, the amusement laced in every note.

 

“Bullshit,” Ten snorted, standing up straighter as Youngho heaved up his carry on, pulling his bus ticket out of his pocket. It would take him from the heart of the city, where their apartment was nestled between a Potbelly and a strip club, to a station where he could walk a few blocks and hop on the next available train right out of town.

 

For university, Youngho and Ten had found themselves in the same major in a rather large city. Much to his parents’ dismay, Youngho had ended up right back where he started, in Chicago. It was a little weird, adjusting to city life after growing up in grassy fields and a constantly migrating pickup truck, but he rather liked the experience. Just not enough to stay.

 

“Mm. I think I’ll miss your positive attitude the most while I’m gone,” Youngho beamed, his pearly whites making Ten scrunch up his nose with mild annoyance.

 

“Get out of here, punk,” he laughed, smacking Youngho on the back as he stepped out of the doorway. “And text me when you get signal in whatever damned place you end up in this time.”


End file.
